


The Kidfic AU - 6

by Tieleen



Series: The Kidfic AU [6]
Category: Bandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, Gen, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-25
Updated: 2010-08-25
Packaged: 2017-10-11 06:10:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tieleen/pseuds/Tieleen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank's dad -- his other dad -- was the one who taught him how to play the guitar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kidfic AU - 6

**Author's Note:**

> This part was written to an old prompt from Sascha: _3:frank, patrick, hands, cold, trick._ Contains shameless emotional manipulation. If old emails are to be believed, it's all the fault of needing to escape phase diagrams.

Frank's dad -- his other dad -- was the one who taught him how to play the guitar.

It was winter, and Frank must had been about five or six; not really an age where people usually expect you to sit still and learn how to do things, especially not _Frank_. But it was too cold to go outside -- he got sick even more easily back then -- and everyone else were watching TV or something, and Frank was bored and annoyed and he wanted to _do something_, and so he sneaked into dad's studio, which was totally forbidden, and of course he got caught the second he opened the door.

Dad had given him a distracted look, the same look he'd have sometimes when he wandered out to make lunch that meant he'd disappear back inside the moment everyone was finished eating, but it cleared up a little when Frank scowled back, and he gave a surprised huff of laughter and said, "Hey, kiddo. Bad day?"

"Can't I go out for like _an hour_?" Frank had said. "_Brendon_ went out." It's a bizarrely clear memory in his head, even though he doesn't remember anything else from back then with so much detail; the high walls of the studio, the helpless resentment towards the whole wide world, the door handle under his fingers, his arm held up to grip it.

"Maybe tomorrow, okay?" Dad had said. "It's supposed to be warmer." He saw the look Frank was giving him and grinned ruefully. "Yeah, I bet that doesn't really help right now. Hey, you know what -- I guess I should take a break anyway -- how about I teach you how to play something?"

That had never even occurred to Frank before, even though Brendon knew how to play like three instruments already and Ryan had been playing guitar since before he came to live with them. But they were in _school_ already (Frank actually suspects, now, that Brendon learned how to play the piano before he learned how to walk, but even if that's true, he hadn't thought about it then), which seemed a completely different thing; they knew how to _read_, too, though that only meant they'd crash Frank and Victoria's room every night at bed time to hear Pete do the funny voices.

He stole Ryan's guitar by doing an Indian crawl behind the living room couch (dad had technically said to ask, but Frank was so not going to waste time trying to convince Ryan, and besides, that was way less fun), which was still a bit too big for him, but it was okay. Frank was used to being too small for stuff, anyway.

"Great," dad had said, getting one of the three thousand guitars he had in the studio and sitting down across from him. "Okay, now watch my hands."

He was probably expecting Frank to get tired of it in half an hour, but Frank doesn't remember seeing it, not then and not by the time Brendon knocked on the door to tell them dinner was ready, peering in to say, "Hey, is that Ryan's? He's going to kill you." Frank didn't even care, though; he'd learned already, in those few hours, that the trick was in finding out what you loved and leaping on it, and not letting it be taken away, even if somebody was going to sit on your head later for it.

"No fighting," dad had said absently, not even asking why Frank was going to get killed when he'd been told to ask ahead, and when Frank looked back at him, he had that same distracted look on his face, like he was seeing something really important or really beautiful inside his head, and his eyes were focused on Ryan's shiny red guitar, on Frank's too-small hands on the strings.


End file.
